


forget-me-not

by megamegaturtle, projectml



Series: Tarot 2017 [3]
Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Angst, Gen, shooorrrttt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-06
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-06-06 03:13:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15185501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megamegaturtle/pseuds/megamegaturtle, https://archiveofourown.org/users/projectml/pseuds/projectml
Summary: Distraction. Quiet.Ghosts.





	forget-me-not

**Author's Note:**

> This work is part of Project: Miraculous Ladybug's Tarot, 2017.
> 
> Authors  
> megamegaturtle - http://miraculousturtle.tumblr.com  
> gigiree - http://gigiree.tumblr.com

Ladybug seems much more distracted than usual. Beyond the usual petty crime they stop at night, their patrol has been uneventful. A sleepy night sprawling across even sleepier streets. Still, she’s unusually distant, her head tilting like the hands of a compass always towards the direction of La Seine.

They sit for a few moments on top of an old building whose dark reflection wavers in the murky waters of the river. The river ebbs and flows along it’s path unknown to the growing turmoil feet above it’s surface. Chat Noir idly polishes his baton, blandly listing off the standard checklist of duties they’d painstakingly compiled over the years, ignoring the stillness.

“Watered old Madame Fontaine’s rooftop garden?”

“Yes.”

“Stayed by little Noelle’s window until she fell asleep.”

“Check.”

“Tucked in Monsieur Renard under an extra blanket?”

“Yeah...it got cold in the park.” She says, still looking at La Seine. She follows the floating reflections of light bobbing in the waters, her fingers knotting through each other with an unease that sets his own leg bouncing. 

A whirlpool of emotions envelopes them in the sparse words she scarcely speaks.

It’s contagious, and while they’re not completely done with their exhaustive list of duties, he would really rather have her full attention than this hollow, stilted interaction. A something, a reminder, a— 

“Danced naked under the moonlight while swearing your eternal love for Jagged Stone?”

“Yes.” She says, and his sharp bark of laughter seems to bring her back to awareness.

“That would have been a sight to see.” He chuckles, and then softens a bit when he notices her answering smile is strained. “Do you have somewhere you need to go?”

“Y-yeah...but…” 

The lines of her back are taut, her fingers have curled into fists and her jaw seems to be working to come up with a proper response.

“You don’t want to go?”

She shakes her head.

“It’s the Ghost Festival.”

Autumn had brought with it the usual chill. The leaves had turned into a cacophony of browns, reds and oranges littering the streets of Paris with a cheerful farewell to summer. Still, the cold of the night isn’t responsible for the chill that creeps down his spine at her softly worded response.

He’s unsure what this means, but something about the sadness that creeps into her tone makes him think there’s a lot more to it than that.

“I’m confused, Marinette. What’s the Ghost Festival?”

She tilts her head again, this time looking at him with a soft consideration.

“You should come over and see.”

And Chat Noir knows that there’s something magical beyond the yellow light of a harvest moon and the glittering, blue eyes of the girl he loves. He wholeheartedly places his hand in hers and gladly lets her pull him to heavens knows where, just as surely as La Seine flows.

* * *

The Ghost Festival, it turns out, is a celebration of those who are gone.

He thinks he made a mistake. His heart twists into something nasty and bitter in his chest, his eyes burn, and he nearly wants to run away when he sees the empty spot the Dupain-Cheng’s have left at their dining table for someone they’re missing.

It’s not this that seems so odd. Rather the fact that already he sees this sight everyday. He sits alone in his cold, dark house behind a long table. His only company an aging, grumpy deity and empty chairs reminding him of someone long gone and someone who is slipping away from him.

Sometimes, sometimes—Adrien forgets that Marinette isn’t alive. That she walks the precarious line between tangible and not. That one time she had a family, that one time she was here, that one time there was no need to put a place at the table for her. 

Perched not too far from the family’s window, he feels the cool touch of Marinette’s ghostly hands smooth his hair. They both know that this isn’t forever, but for now—it’s enough. 

“You should,” he whispers. “You should got and have dinner with your family.” 

Marinette shakes her head and curls her chin over a knee. “Sometimes I forget that I’m dead, you know. Sometimes when I wake up I think it’s going to be in my bed, but—I just blink back to where I left you last.” 

“You know that I love you,” he says. “I love you more than anything, I just want you to be happy.” 

Marinette snaps her attention to him and glares. “Yes,” she spits. “I know that. I know—I don’t know why I can’t go back.” 

Adrien gently grabs her hand in his. “Because time can never go back. For whatever reason. And yet, you’ve become a spirit instead, something more than human.” 

She gives a tired smile. “More like I’m a demon, love. A demon being invited back to her parent’s table for a spooky dinner.”   

There’s a crack in his heart from the day his mother left and there’s an even bigger fissure when Ladybug left him too, but now, in this moment, when he can still cling to her, gold seeps inside instead. 

“Is that why you were looking at La Seine? Because you thought if maybe...you hadn't fallen in, or if you could somehow go back...and…” He stills his tongue, closes his eyes hard against the memories that flood him until the gold tugs at his present happiness. 

He feels her gentle fingers, a press of cold air, flutter against his eyelids.

“No. The lights in the water...they reminded me of knowing where I belong…knowing where to go.”

He swallows. “A path to find your new home?” 

Ladybug strokes his cheek. “Yes, I think,” she admits. “And if I go to dinner...what if...what if I actually take that journey?”

He swallows past his selfishness. The knot in his throat twisting and digging in what feels like the sides of his trachea until he finds it harder to form the answer he knows is best. He finally manages it, and opens his eyes to look through the window at the empty chair and the grieving family.

“I'll miss you. But I want you to find happiness. And that isn't here.”

“...I know.”


End file.
